Gray Skin
by theminimogut
Summary: Vilkas isn't a fan of the new 'whelp,' especially not after seeing her fight. One-Shot, No Pairing. Second upload, most recently finished work, made in preparation for (yet another) new game in Skyrim.


"You've got to admit, Dark Elf or not, she's pretty good."

Vilkas sighed. Aela was right, though he didn't want to admit it. This Lathara or Laala or whatever she called herself was a very good fighter.

He had seen that for himself when Kodlak assigned him to assess the girl, and it had been… surprising, to say the least. She had held herself well, ruthlessly smashing at his blocks and - while not blocking herself - dodging most of his strikes. But yet… there was still something odd about it. She dodged some of his best strikes, but had fallen to some of his weaker attacks. Holding herself oddly, missing openings…

"Yes, she's 'good,'" Vilkas replied bitterly. "For a gray-skin."

As if she'd heard him, the so-named 'Gray-Skin' looked up suddenly from her practice, pinning him with her blood red eyes. Involuntarily, he shuddered. Vilkas wasn't a coward, by any means, but the eyes of Dark Elves… well, sometimes that single glint of red was enough to freeze a man's blood quicker than an ice wraith's teeth.

Aela, on the other hand, hadn't even noticed. "For a gray-skin? Vilkas-"

Vilkas cut her off midsentence by simply standing and walking away. He knew what he'd said wasn't fair, and he was somewhat friendly with Athis, another Dark Elf, but… something about this one felt fundamentally _wrong_, and he didn't know why. Maybe it was just the beast-blood, clouding his senses…

He also didn't know why everyone kept making such a big deal over her. Yes, she was a new member, yes she was an elf. And? All he'd noticed about her so far was that Aela was begrudgingly impressed by her, and that she spoke very little, if at all.

After Vilkas had calmed down, he returned to sit with Aela, who let him go with a passing comment:

"Like it or not, Llathala's a shield sister."

So, he waited for her to leave. She didn't. Even after one and a half hours of nonstop training, she was still slicing at the practice dummy, though it appeared her sword arm was twitching slightly. Vilkas sighed grouchily, almost missing the faint green spider web of light that glistened on her armor. She had enchanted gear!

As if he needed another reason to dislike her; she was milk drinker who relied on magic and the use of souls to keep herself alive! As if on cue, she stepped away and, reaching into the satchel she carried _everywhere_, pulled out a small soul gem. Without skipping a beat, she touched the tip of the jewel to her armor. Once it was a dull, lusterless grey, she replaced it and glided over to the shaded pavilion.

Without further ado, she plunked herself down on the opposite side of Aela, snatched a bottle of ale and starting gulping it down.

Vilkas stared in shock; he'd never seen anyone drink that quickly, besides maybe Torvar, but certainly never a woman. Certainly never an _elf._ He started slightly when she slammed the bottle down, sighing. It was an odd sigh, sounding hollow, and maybe a little… sad? Not that it mattered, Vilkas thought to himself.

"What?" said a brusque, yet oddly soft - no, not soft, quiet - voice. "What do you want?"

"What?" he replied, snapping to attention; Vilkas flushed slightly as he realized that, not only had he dozed off - so to speak - but that he'd dozed off, staring in the direction of the elf.

"I asked first," the elf said, the slightest hint of a smirk in her voice.

Unsure of how to respond, Vilkas harrumphed and turned away. The elf chuckled slightly; it grated on his nerves. Aela joined in beside him… not that Vilkas was really expecting any other reaction.

"So, whelp," said Aela after she finished laughing. "You ready for a real sparring match?"

No reply, just the scraping of a chair as the elf stood up; she glided back into Vilkas' view as she and Aela took the field… or courtyard, really. Both women used one handed weapons, but Vilkas was sure he knew who'd win the match.

It was a fierce match, but not dangerous. Llathala took the upper hand early in, but was quickly beaten back by Aela. Then she took the upper hand again, only to be beaten back once more.

It continued like that for a while, neither one conceding defeat. The court rang with the sound of steel on steel, and of Aela's shouted, but the elf, strangely, stayed silent. No taunts, no grunts, just complete silence. There was a single second where her face became fully visible; her eyes burned with a rabid determination, her lips clamped shut.

During the fight, spectators gathered. Pretty much every Companion, really. Farkas, Skjor, even Kodlak left his neverending quest for _the_ cure to watch.

Finally, the deciding move was made. Aela caught the Dark Elf on the wrist, causing her hand to twitch reflexively and drop the sword; almost unnoticeable was the ripple that traveled up her arm, through her body. Another single second where her face was visible, and the change that went over it was truly frightening.

Her eyes no longer burned with determination, they crackled with fury and fear. Her mouth opened in a panting gasp as she rapidly kicked up, relieving Aela of her sword also. If it wasn't for the fact that it was _impossible_ for her to have the beast-blood, Vilkas was sure she was about to burst into the wolf form.

He and Farkas jumped to their feet, rushing forward to restrain the frenzied elf. Behind them, the other Companions who'd gathered to watch were muttering among themselves; Vilkas couldn't blame them. Llathala had just displayed the most dishonorable tactics he'd ever seen.

"Did you always fight that dirty out there, elf?" Aela asked, sounding slightly amused. "Or do you just not like me?"

"I apologize," the Dark Elf replied, dipping her head and looking somewhat ashamed, though she still tried to shrug her way out of the brothers' grip. "I did not mean to lose control."

Both men released her, and she turned to walk away, looking very embarrassed, now that she noticed the crowd, whispering - a blushing Dark Elf certainly did look odd - though she still looked back, throwing out a comment just loud enough for everyone to hear.

"However, I've learned that honorable tactics mean nothing in a real fight," she said, tilting her head at an odd angle as she began to unbuckle her armor.

Confused looks quickly turned to looks of horror as she pulled the pauldron and the plate on her back free. There, standing stark against her gray skin was a thick, pale scar. It stretched from her right shoulder down to her wrist - the same wrist Aela had slashed - but that wasn't the end of it. Another scar ran down her back, from the same right shoulder, stretching across her spine.

"Dirty tricks are why I'm still alive," Llathala said, her eyes cold; Aela was right.

Dark Elf or not, she was pretty good. She'd had to be.


End file.
